SOME NEW ANECDOTES OF MARK TWAIN . 
171 
As he was recovering from the bronchitis 
and feeling much relieved at his escape, came 
the famous cricket week, when everyone in 
the island thought of nothing but cricket, 
and spent most of their time watching the 
game enthusiastically. He had never under- 
stood it thoroughly before, but he said he 
felt sure it must be a good game if an entire 
nation thought it so. And he was soon as 
keen as anyone, and attending daily. 
THIS PORTRAIT OF MARK TWAIN WAS TAKEN AT THE RAY 
HOUSE, BERMUDA, THE LAST TIME HE WAS ABLE 
Fr ' ,m TO DRESS. [Photograph. 
Vol. xlvi. — 22- 
Here is a list of 
“ etiquettical requirements at a cricket 
MATCH.” 
It is not good form for the ignorant spec- 
tator to be constantly questioning his intelli- 
gent neighbour about the game. 
There should be intervals of from one to two 
minutes between the questions, otherwise the 
intelligent neighbour will eventually get tired. 
The questions usually asked — and the 
answers usually furnished — are as 
follows. Study them carefully, and 
keep still : — 
Ignorant Spectator : “ What are 
those things there ? ” 
Intelligent Neighbour : “ Wic- 
kets.” 
I. S. : “ What are they for ? ” 
I. N. : il For the umpire to sil 
down on when he is tired.” 
(Written after first day’s attend- 
ance of cricket.) 
The first dangerous « attack 
came on March 22nd, when out 
visiting. He was so ill that we 
feared we might not get him 
home, but when it passed off he 
would not let us make any 
change in our plans. But from this 
time on he slept little, and the 
shortness of breath began, when 
it really seemed an established 
thing that he could not lie down 
without its return. One night when 
he was very tired, but could not 
sleep, he said, “Now I know what 
poor . c Livy ’ suffered.” He was 
thinking of his wife, who had this 
same difficulty. He was always 
thinking of her, and towards the 
last spoke of her constantly. A 
few days before he left he wrote 
in “ Eve’s Diary,” which he gave 
to the doctor, “Wheresoever she 
was, there was Eden.” There 
never was a more devoted hus- 
band, and in these last days his 
thoughts were with her always. 
It was almost as if he were reach- 
ing out to her, feeling her near. 
One evening he fell into a dis- 
cussion of style in writing. He 
had just read a book which made 
him indignant with the author 
because of his redundant use of 
the word “ that.” This fault an- 
noyed him excessively, and he 
called our attention to its fre- 
quency. This evening we had with 
